Rage: A Love Story (5 page)

Snow sifts through the branches of our wild juniper, catching on needles and frosting berries. It’s the middle of summer and the snow brings a welcome relief from the heat. We can have snow in our summer, anytime we want it. She’s lying next to me on a towel, catching snowflakes on her tongue. A fluffy crystal lands on the tip and she curls her tongue at me. With my lips, I accept the offering
.

A wind kicks up and blows so hard it yanks the branches. One breaks away and slams down on Reeve. I’m strong; I hike the branch and launch it. She’s unhurt, smiling up at me
.

Her eyes are blue-black, glittering diamonds of winter summer solstice. She snaps her fingers and casts a spell on me. We’re in a snow globe, glitter raining down on us and sticking to our silver skin. She looks at me and says, “You saved me.”

I say, “I always will.”

• • •

J
oyland dissolves and all that remains is flat terrain. I want to fall asleep so I can dream. But it’s late, time for school.

The senior lot is full, so I park across the street. A van careers in front of me, backs up, and rams my bumper. Glass shatters.

Robbie surges out the passenger side and checks the damage.

“Your headlight’s broke,” he says as I leap out. To Reeve he goes, “You broke her headlight.”

Reeve strolls off toward school.

“It’s … okay. It was already broken,” I call to her.

She crosses the street.

“Reeve!” I shout. She doesn’t stop.

Robbie says, “You should get that fixed.”

“Yeah, thanks.” I reach in the car for my backpack. When I straighten, Robbie’s in my face.

“She’s sorry.”

I gaze after Reeve. “I can see that.”

He turns and hustles after her.

Damn. I should’ve given Robbie his case. He got me all rattled with his care and concern about my headlight.

Reeve isn’t in the cafeteria with the LBDs. Where is she?

I buy a croissant sandwich from the machine and head out to my car. The van is gone. Chunks of busted headlamp remain. Message received, Reeve. Thanks.

I’d parked so the morning sun beat directly on my windshield
and now the interior is stuffy and, oh, about two hundred degrees. I crank down both windows to catch a cross breeze, then lie with my head on the passenger door armrest, legs extended out the driver’s side window.

Last spring Novak wanted me to fly to California with her to check out UCLA and UC Berkeley. At that time I’d been so consumed with Mom dying, I hadn’t had time or energy to even think about college. Novak and I always talked about going to the same college, rooming together—before Dante.

When Tessa was in college, I wrote to her religiously once a week. She wrote back, but more sporadically. After Mom got sick, while she was on morphine and sleeping a lot, to pass the time I’d write this one letter to Tessa over and over. In my mind I’d see her read it and call me immediately. I got the letter, she’d say. I’m coming home. You don’t have to, I’d counter, but she’d already be on the plane. Eventually I finished it. Sent it. And nothing. Most of the drafts are still in my spiral under the bed, along with the love letters I’ve never given to Reeve.

Letters from Joyland. Love, Johanna.

On the way to class, I make a pit stop.

She’s in the restroom, refreshing her makeup, drawing heavy black liner over and under her eye. My stomach jams up my throat.

This is stupid. We’ve been through something. We need to talk about it
.

“Hey, do you have any gum or breath mints?” I ask.

Her eyes fix on mine in the mirror, then away.

I move toward the sink and she steps back, like I’m contaminated. “I didn’t brush my teeth this morning and the
sandwich I ate for lunch was, like, pure onions.”
Shut up, Johanna
. I twist on the spigot and thrust my hands under freezing cold water. Did I just tell her I didn’t brush my teeth?

She looks like she either wants to say something, or kill me. I turn off the water. The paper towels are behind her and my hands are dripping.

She leans aside.

“Thanks,” I say. I can’t believe how controlled my voice sounds. “God, I need some gum.”

“I don’t have any gum,” she says. “What were you doing at my house?”

I rip off a square of towel. “Robbie left his cruise missile and I came over to give it back to him.”

“His what?”

“Whatever he carries in that case.”

“He told you it was a cruise missile?”

“An M16 or something. A motion-detector bomb.”

A slight smile cricks her lips. “And you believed that?”

“No. But what
is
in there?”

She ignores the question and turns to leave.

“Look, about what happened at your house—”

A trio of girls bursts through the door, giggling, shattering the fragile connection we’re establishing. They jam into a stall and light a cigarette. It gets hot and crowded.

“Where is Robbie’s bomb?” Reeve turns back.

“In my car.”

Time passes. Babies are born. Old people die.

Reeve says, “Well?”

“Well what?”

She blows out an irritated breath. “Can we go get it?”

“Oh, sure.”
We
. She said
we
. My feet move.

Reeve floats beside me and I feel huge, monstrous next to her. Uplifted and weighty both. I hold the outside door open for her.

We don’t speak all the way to my car. All the things I can think of to say are weak. Or crucial.

Reeve stands aside while I get the case. As I hand it to her, she says, “Thanks,” and our fingers touch. Nerve endings spark.

She turns away. Then turns back. “What you saw yesterday? You didn’t see it.”

“Okay,” I say.

Her gaze drifts down the street.

“I did, though,” I say.

She shakes her head.

I have the strongest urge to reach out and touch her. Just… touch.

She flinches, as if I had. She says, “No.” I let her get away. For the last time.

Robbie bounds into the room a few seconds after me. Doesn’t say hi or hello or no or “cooperate with Johanna.” Slides into his desk, pulls out sheets of crumpled paper, and starts to write.

I want to ask, How’s it going? Though I now know his life sucks on a very serious level.

He has his case with him, I notice. “Um, let me know if you need help, okay?”

Scritch-scratch of pen on paper.

I pull out my checkbook and thumb through the register.
Some fool has entered amounts with no notations of where she spent the money. At the end I wrote in a negative number. What is that? My bank balance? Last month I was overdrawn by more than a hundred dollars, and this month my car insurance is due.

I’m calculating how much I’ll make if I work at Bling’s every night, all weekend, all summer, every day for the rest of my life when I hear, “Aren’t you done yet?”

My head shoots up. Reeve’s resting a shoulder on the doorframe, her arms crossed.

“Hi.” God. My voice is three octaves higher than usual. I clear my throat. “What time is it?” I check my watch. It’s flashing 12:00. Cheap Bling’s watch.

She saunters into the room and glances up at the big clock over the door. “Twenty after.”

Oh yeah.

Her eyes shift to me. “What is he writing?”

“His memoir. Expect a call from Jerry Springer any day.”

Reeve casts me a death look.

Shit! “I’m kidding. It’s just the essay. The senior project.”

Sometime during the day she had finished her makeup. Mood: murderous. “He won’t have any trouble finding a worst moment,” she says. “Choosing one, maybe.”

“Really,” Robbie mumbles.

“What’s your
best
moment, asstard?” Reeve asks him.

Robbie stops writing and raises his chin. He doesn’t look at Reeve. Or me.

Reeve says, “I bet I know.”

Robbie gazes up at her and this powerful emotion passes between them—love or hate or what? It’s a communion.

Reeve moves her lips. Robbie shakes his head. She motions with her chin and Robbie stands, cramming his papers into his back pocket.

“Wait.” I almost knock his case out of his hand. Reeve has stopped right outside the door; impaled herself against the brick wall, looking like she’s bracing for an attack. “What were you doing?” she asks.

“What?”

She rolls her eyes. “You ask that a lot. What? When? Who? You should develop better listening skills.”

“Better what?” I smile.

She smirks. “While rat boy was working, what were you doing?”

“You mean, balancing my checkbook?”

“You have money?”

“No. That’s the problem.”

She holds my eyes. “You have a job?”

“Yeah. At Bling’s. In the mall?”

“Career minded.” She nods. “I like that in a girl.”

“You do?”

Reeve opens her mouth like she wants to say something, like she’s
aching
to say it. I know the feeling.

Robbie emerges and she grabs him, tugging him along after her. At the hall intersection, she slows and twists her head around. Robbie keeps going. Reeve reaches in her pocket and tosses me something, which I snag one-handed.

It’s a pack of Orbit.

I
’m feeling energized, euphoric. After an evening at the hospice. After making contact with Reeve. I take the stairs to the apartment two at a time and see there’s a note pushpinned to my door: “We need to talk. Come see me if you get home by 9.”

Tessa’s handwriting is tiny and cramped. My watch face is blank now. Inside, the clock on the cable box reads 9:48. Oops, too late.

I strip and climb into bed.

Sleep eludes me. I taste peppermint from the gum, all of which I chewed.
Reeve
. How she actually remembered and got me gum. The meaning in her eyes, the understanding between us, her gravitational pull toward me. She wore that short stretchy vest that ties under her breasts, over a skimpy tank. She doesn’t own a lot of outfits, but she can wear that one
every day for me. Her hair is black on top with that blond underlayer. How does she achieve the two-tone effect? Does someone do it for her? Britt maybe. Britt’s hair is always highlighted or streaked.

No. I won’t associate Reeve with Britt. Or anyone. Only peppermint. I can chew on that all night.

Heaven forbid Tessa should go to bed one minute after nine. She couldn’t say, Come talk to me. Anytime.

I roll over and curl into myself. That letter, the one I never should’ve sent, it changed things between Tessa and me. I don’t think … she loves me … anymore.

She used to call and say, “Do you want me to move back? Because I will. Just say the word.” I’d always tell her, “No, everything’s fine. Mom can still get around.” Even when Mom couldn’t, I didn’t want Tessa to have to quit college. Tessa would say, “You’re so strong. I don’t know if I could handle it day after day.” She meant watching Mom die.

I’m not strong, Tessa. It’s just, some things in life, you have no choice.

I throw off my tangled sheet and pad out for a glass of milk or something. When I open the carton, the odor staggers me backward.

My stomach heaves as I pour the curdled gunk down the sink.

I have to get out of here, go somewhere. Back to the hospice. I throw on jeans and a hoodie. The misty air is heavy with the smell of burning wood. Who’s up at this hour building a fire? Reeve and I would, if we lived together. We’d lie in front of the fireplace and make love all night.

Halfway to my car, I stop in the dewy grass. I’m barefoot.

Can you be wide awake and unconscious?

Martin and Tessa are both home, their cars parked side by side in the driveway. I slide open the patio door as quietly as possible. The lights are out, and dark shapes moving in the living room freeze me in my tracks. Martin steps behind Tessa, their silhouettes converging. He holds her around the middle, his hands spread across her tummy. Tessa’s hands come to rest over his.

Martin says, “Hmm. Yes, I’m definitely seeing blue. Blue dots. Blue measles. We should name him Spot.”

Tessa bops her head off Martin’s chest. “Do you really hate the name Martin? We could go with Marty. Or Martina.”

Martin says, “Let’s stick with Spot.” He asks, “When are you going in for your next ultrasound?”

She doesn’t answer.

“We’re twelve weeks now.” Martin smoothes her bangs back from her forehead. “Right?”

The quiet wraps around them. Their last baby died at twelve weeks.

This is my cue to leave. I step back—on a squeaky floorboard. Their heads swivel in unison.

“Mojo?”

“Hey, guys.” I wave weakly.

Martin lets go of Tessa but slides his hand into hers and raises it to his lips. “Word up, homie?” he says to me as he kisses her knuckles.

“I got your note,” I say to Tessa.

“Oh, right. Don’t let your car insurance expire.”

“That’s it? Gee, thanks for the sisterly advice.” I head for the refrigerator.

Tessa follows me. “I mean it, Johanna. I won’t let you drive without insurance.”

Their milk is fresh. I drink right out of the carton because I know it galls her.

Tessa’s cell phone rings in her bag. She fishes it out as Martin sneaks up behind me. He goes to tip up the carton in my face and I twist away. He did that once and I got a milk bath. I chased him out the front door into the street and pounded him good. Martin asks, “What are you doing up at the witching hour, Mojo?”

“Casting a spell on my evil bro-in-law.” I wiggle voodoo fingers at him.

Martin smacks his cheeks and ovals his mouth in horror. It cracks me up. He’s wearing this t-shirt that says:
INTERNET ATE MY BRAIN
.

“Geek,” I say as I pass him.

“Gangsta.” He yanks on my hoodie.

Tessa rushes out of the dining room into the living room. “I just put in a twelve-hour shift,” she says into her cell. “Can’t you find someone else?”

I say to Martin, “Spot, huh?”

His whole face crinkles in a grin.

I add, “For a middle name, how about Ted?”

Martin bursts into laughter.

My future niece or nephew: Spot Ted Däg. Yeah, I’m
good
.

I’m about to leave when Tessa sweeps back in. She lifts her carryall off the counter and tells Martin, “I have to go back.”

“You just got off,” he says.

“We’re short-staffed. One of the new interns fell and broke
her ankle and Cody has strep. People are lined up around the building.”

Martin cocks his head.

“Well, I’m sorry,” Tessa says.

“No, it’s okay.”

God, he’s understanding. I’d probably say, How about some me time? Some home time? Tessa works in a free clinic downtown as a nurse-practitioner.

Martin says, “Your jacket’s pretty bloody.”

Tessa scans the front of her lab coat. “Shit. We had a bleeder today.” She drops her carryall and charges through the living room to the bedroom.

Martin expels a long breath. He turns to me. “Spotted Däg goes, ‘Woof.’”

“Arf,” I say.